This Type Of Game
by mandaree1
Summary: Once a year or so, he checks the chains binding the beast down. Problem is, the beast is determined to remind him of the darkness lingering inside.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Secret Saturday's**

**Summary: Once a year or so, he checks up on the chains binding the beast down. Problem is, the beast is determined to remind him of the darkness lingering inside.**

**...**

It was _that_ day.

It didn't have a date. It wasn't a set day with a set time that he could look up on a calendar or plan for. It was a feeling. One he'd rather live without.

There were no false alarms. No mistakes. He put it off as long as he could, a headache throbbing behind his temples. There would be no peace, he knew, not until he gave in.

He passed Fisk in the hall to his room, gave him the 'look.' The lemurian made sure to lock his door behind him. He knew, he would play his part to help him. He always did.

He stretched on his back, closed his eyes. Might as well look asleep, in case of sudden intruders. The air ship was empty for the day, however, so he doubted the possibility of the occurrences. It was for appearance, if nothing else.

He let go. The pain surrounded him, transferring from his head to his bones and limbs. He grit his teeth. The orange flickering just behind his eyelids slowly began to fully cover his body. Useless power, forgotten fear, lingering air.

And with that, his mind, soul, and heart joined as one.

* * *

It was dark. As always.

Maybe it was a mental game. A way he'd designed to mess with his psyche, to shatter his calm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it without knowing. Or maybe it was necessary._ It_ might be too weak to handle light. Like a vampire without sunblock. Either way, it was dark, no matter how hard he tried to change it.

He landed on the detached stone- one of the many floating around-, it began to move. It tilted and shifted with his movements; an all-natural skateboard.

Emotions passed by. He didn't glance at them. He knew what was there, he didn't _need_ too look. Memories passed. He left them be. Leaving them alone was best for _all_ involved. He wasn't one to hold grudges, and he wasn't about to start now.

He leapt off the stone, floated a few feet, he landed on the platform. He looked up. _It_ smirked.

"Back already?" It pulled at its chains. They didn't budge.

He said nothing, stood straight, walked with purpose. "What? No hello?" It wasn't really him, he reminded himself, it was just using his form to try to get its way. It sighed pitifully. "Please an old beast from time to time, it's good manners."

For a second, it didn't look like him. A orange outline, deep, imposing, etched out its true nature. He didn't flinch, crouched down, repaired the chains.

It idly blew fire at him. It burst into a ray of fireworks around him, but not a single flare made contact. "Honestly, do you expect to keep this up forever? One day, these chains _will_ break."

He laughed, bitter and resentful. "You're not_ him_, don't even bother to _pretend_ to be him. Kur died with Argost. You're just a few _shreds_ of his leftover power."

"Yet you can't find it in you to kill me." It smiled viciously. He checked the other chain, stood, turned away. "Face it, you're_ me_."

"Don't tempt me." He snapped. Don't lose it, it's not worth it. _It's_ hoping to make you do just that.

"You can't keep it from them forever, you know." It yawned, bored with the situation at hand. "You can lock it up all you want, but you can't hide it. You'll mess up, someday. Mark my words."

"Shut. Up." The rock reappeared. He returned to his original position, kicked off the stone.

It smirked. This game was_ soo_ much fun to play.

* * *

"Is Zak okay?"

Fisk nodded, tray of food in hand. He lowered his eyes in discontent, dramatically placed a hand to his head, muttering a few, false, painful grunts.

"He's sick?" He nodded, pointed. "You'd better hurry with the food then. We'll check up on him in a bit."

He opened the door, eyed the boy. The glow had faded away, as though it had somehow never existed. He opened his eyes. "Ulgh... hey Fisk, how's it goin'?"

He waved a flat hand, set the tray on the cabinet, helped him sit up. How'd it go, he asked, looking him over for injuries.

"Another year, another trip." He answered. "... It went_ fine_ Fisk. It always does."

He handed him the soup, asked who won. He took a sip, thought over his words.

"... No one ever _wins_ this type of game, Fisk."

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